A wealthy CEO sat there with an air of elegance, a cup of coffee by his side, yet his phone emitted the voice of “I am Liu Xiaolian.”
The scene was so surreal that Shang Lu almost couldn’t bear to watch.
But then it occurred to her—she was the one who had filmed this video. Why should she feel embarrassed? With that thought, Shang Lu walked over and took a seat.
Before she could even speak, Xin Yan’s first question left her at a loss for words: “Why does this video end so abruptly?”
What was it like to be asked for an update in person? Shang Lu now knew exactly how it felt. She smiled sheepishly. “Lately, I’ve been busy preparing for a new drama. Once I’m done, I might continue filming.”
Truth be told, after shooting over ten episodes, Shang Lu had found it rather dull. Melodramatic soap operas suited her taste better and would help her gain a foothold in the entertainment industry.
Seeing her slightly embarrassed expression, Xin Yan found it amusing but kept his composure. Instead, he called over the server. “I’m not sure what you prefer. Why don’t you order?”
Instinctively, Shang Lu replied, “Just a coconut latte, please.” The server paused, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have that on our menu.”
Shang Lu hesitated for a fleeting moment, a subtle reaction that Xin Yan noticed.
She remembered—this drink had been pioneered by a certain brand in her previous life.
In this parallel world, the streets and surroundings were almost identical to her past life. Sometimes, she would forget that she had transmigrated into a book.
Yet, small, unexpected details always reminded her that she had already died once.
Like the unfamiliar celebrities in luxury advertisements, the unfamiliar leaders in the news, the unfamiliar high-end brands, and the coconut latte that had never existed here.
Shang Lu looked up and spoke gently to the server. “A regular latte will be fine.”
The server, charmed by the beautiful woman’s gentle tone, felt her heart melt. “Of course! Please wait just a moment!”
At the neighboring table, two young women had been eyeing Xin Yan for a while, too intimidated by his presence to approach him for his number.
Now, seeing a radiant beauty sitting across from him, they sighed quietly. Of course, handsome men were always surrounded by beautiful women—there was no chance for them.
“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet. I’m Shang Lu, a director. Director Pang must have mentioned me to you.”
Shang Lu steered the conversation toward the main topic.
Xin Yan nodded. “Director Pang said you have a natural talent for directing. After watching your work, I can see your unique style.”
Shang Lu, with her strong mental resilience, simply smiled in response.
“It’s just catering to popular tastes. I hope you don’t look down on me for that, Mr. Xin.”
“On the contrary, I think you’re a perfect fit for our platform.”
Xin Yan exchanged a knowing smile with her. He hadn’t been wrong—Shang Lu wasn’t the type to cling to artistic ideals while enduring poverty.
“Huasheng Video is a project the group just launched this year. The platform is already built and in its internal testing phase. What are your thoughts on this, Ms. Shang?”
Shang Lu hadn’t expected Xin Yan to be so direct, immediately bringing up the long-form video platform.
Fortunately, she had come prepared.
“Compared to [Dou Dong], long-form video doesn’t seem to have much of an advantage. I imagine many people share that view.”
In her previous life, many had thought the same way, but Shang Lu had never agreed.
“In my view, long-form video has its own advantages, with the greatest one lying in web series.”
Xin Yan’s expression remained indifferent, yet his eyes were not as calm as still water. “I’d like to hear the details.”
“With the internet so developed nowadays, people prefer scrolling on their phones over watching TV. Given that, why don’t we move television dramas online and specifically create web series that cater to young people’s tastes?”
Drawing from her past life experiences, Shang Lu spoke confidently, “Compared to chasing dramas on TV, watching shows on phones isn’t restricted by time or location, fitting the fast-paced lifestyle of young people. It also allows for exploring more genres, such as adapting novels.”
Upon hearing the last point, Xin Yan couldn’t help but pause—this was something he hadn’t considered before.
“Does Mr. Xin usually read novels?” Shang Lu teased him, as if she already knew the answer.
Xin Yan was honest, “I know a little.”
To be more precise, he had glanced at a few. Back then, he was too busy making a living to have leisure time for novels. Some of his classmates, however, were addicted to novels and neglected their studies.
Shang Lu took out her phone and showed him some data, “The audience for online novels has already reached 300 million, mostly young people. With a wide variety of genres, these novels can easily be adapted into web series—they’re ready-made scripts.”
Xin Yan had no prior exposure to this industry, and the Huasheng Group didn’t have such a business, but the data didn’t seem fabricated.
Shang Lu didn’t continue further but instead asked, “Mr. Xin, was entering the entertainment industry your idea, or…?”
Shang Lu needed to clarify one thing before making a decision.
Xin Yan’s deep eyes glanced at her, and then he handed her a photo. It showed Yan Ranran in a wheelchair being carried into a car by a man.
Shang Lu had seen this photo before—on the school forum, and it had spread among student groups. However, the man only showed his back, and his face wasn’t visible.
“I had someone take it.” Although Xin Yan didn’t explicitly say it, Shang Lu understood his meaning.
Her smile grew more genuine as she took out a document folder, “Mr. Xin, this is my proposal. After reviewing it, you can give me a response.”
In the proposal, Shang Lu included some of her insights but not everything. Most importantly, she had an additional request at the end.
Xin Yan accepted it but didn’t open it immediately. Instead, he asked her, “I heard you’ve been selecting actors recently?”
Shang Lu nodded noncommittally, “Yes, although students from art schools are quite good-looking, they don’t quite fit my characters.”
After all, current aesthetic preferences favor protagonists with thick eyebrows and big eyes, who look upright and honorable. Alternatively, there are those who specialize in supporting roles with ordinary looks.
But what Shang Lu wanted was a male actor with a melancholic temperament or a playboy type—both are rare looks in today’s entertainment industry.
Looking at Xin Yan across from her, she couldn’t help but tease him, “Your looks are quite similar to my male lead, what a shame.”
Xin Yan’s features were delicate yet not feminine. If he had lived in Shang Lu’s previous world, with that face, he could probably have become a top star.
“I can give it a try.”
Shang Lu didn’t catch it clearly, “What?” She doubted she had heard correctly—he was a big shot, why would he consider acting?
Xin Yan’s expression, however, appeared quite serious. “I’m saying, maybe I can be your male lead.”